


The Modern Lovers

by theloverneverleaves



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/F, Princess!Isabelle, and maryse probably hates her life, artist!Clary, where all the lightwood heirs are gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 13:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8755036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theloverneverleaves/pseuds/theloverneverleaves
Summary: Princess Isabelle Lightwood has always been very interested in art, and commissioning a royal portrait to be fulfilled by a bright young artist is a lifelong dream. She can think of nothing better to do than to sit perfectly still and allow someone to draw her.This interest in art did absolutely not occur on meeting a certain redhead during an art gallery visit, and she has no idea why anyone is suspicious about her ideas or motivations at all.aka. royal izzy & artist clary ft. crown prince alec and his hero boyfriend





	

“What’s the schedule like, Raj?” Isabelle asked in the car as they pulled up to the art gallery, the flashes of camera lenses echoing in through the dark glass windows.

“You’ll meet the director at the entrance and then have about forty-five minutes to look over some works they’ve selected, meet some of the artists. Then you need to go look at the renovation works in the east wing before going for lunch with the director, the board and those in charge of the new royal exhibition. That’s scheduled for about an hour all in. After that you have half an hour to look over the proposals for the exhibition before leaving the gallery for this evening’s dinner with your brother. We’ve left you an hour to get ready on returning to Adamas House before the car takes you to the palace.”

Isabelle took one last look in her compact, satisfied that her eyeliner was still perfectly intact, before tucking it into her purse and looking up to meet her adviser’s eyes. “Is Mr. Bane still going to be in attendance?” she asked innocently. Raj bit back a smile, an expression so tiny only Isabelle would have noticed.

“Yes, Your Highness, as far as I’m aware.” Isabelle nodded to herself, satisfied.

“Good. It’s about time my brother started thinking of himself and not the crown.”

“I’m not sure Her Majesty would agree,” Raj pointed out, and Izzy snorted dryly.

“Good thing I’m not my mother, then.”

The door opened only moments later, the red carpet rolled out for her, and the cries of ‘Princess Isabelle!’ roared from the surrounding media, who Izzy promptly ignored in favour of the poor man who had been sent to greet her. She gave him a bright smile and a polite greeting, allowing him to show her inside, acting every inch the princess and second in line to the throne that she was.

There were two Isabelle Lightwoods in existence, really. The first was Izzy. The sister, the young woman, the life of the party. The one who liked to wear ridiculous outfits and very tall heels, who enjoyed dancing to Beyoncé and did kickboxing in her space time. Then there was the other version of her. The title. The crown. Princess Isabelle. Princess Isabelle, who never wore anything low cut or short, who only wore very attractive but sensible heels and who never teased or joked or put a toe out of place.

Izzy had spent most of her youth resenting Princess Isabelle, and the fact that her mother had forced Princess Isabelle upon her. But after she’d been caught by paparazzi in her teens, making out with a common boy who’d arrived in the country as a refugee from the Middle East, she’d been forced to change her mind. The pictures had involved Meliorn having his hands down her shirt, and her practically pole dancing in the club. It had taken weeks for the images to go away, and months of charity work and other engagements for people to even begin to forget about it.

She was the wild child princess, and the press had lapped it up, and Izzy had hated every moment of it.

Alec, her brother, went one step further though. For long enough, there had only been one Alec. Prince Alexander. The proper boy, the restrained one, the sensible one, the disciplined one. The perfect son who said all the right things and did his duty and kept his siblings in line. The one girls drooled over in the gossip mags, the one they would never know because he was never there. He was everything a future monarch should be. Blank. Dutiful. Unremarkable. Charitable. Talented. Intelligent.

So practically perfect in every way.

But Izzy could see how it killed him inside, and nothing had killed him more than the day their parents had suggested he should maybe think about courting a nice young duchess or marquess. He’d done it too. Lydia Branwell had appeared, and everyone had adored her, and adored her and Alec together.

Everyone but Izzy.

But then, Magnus Bane had saved the day, and that was that sorted. Not that the public had been informed of how very fortunately gay her brother was, but all in good time, she supposed. For now, her mission was to keep the eyes of the world off the prize, and on her. Attend the event at the National Art Gallery. Smile. Make them look her way, because if they were looking at her, they _weren’t_ looking at who Alec was spending the day with.

Finally, something she was good at.

Isabelle proceeded with complete precision, keeping cool and to the script, even if she was totally and utterly bored to tears within about five minutes. Still, she never let it show, looking on with interest as the director showed her various works of art they had recently acquired, before turning the corner to a long, narrow hallway with a selection of works and a group of people accompanying each one.

There’d been some sort of contest, he informed her. The art schools in the country had all been asked to send a single piece of work from their departments to be displayed for a three month period, and these were the selected winners. They all looked so young, so bright eyed and free. Izzy envied them a little, but smiled, shook their hands and congratulated them as was expected. The works were rather good, if a little bit questionable in places. Everything proceeded as planned.

At least, until the last artist.

“And this is Miss Clary Fairchild, your Highness. She attends the Alicante School of Art,” the director informed her, but she was barely listening because her eyes were caught on a pretty face, a shock of vibrant red hair and an expression that would make angels descend from heaven. Izzy couldn’t stop staring. She was a vision in the black dress she was wearing, one that left very little to the imagination and looked so new Izzy almost felt like she’d bought it on the way here. But Clary was quite beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, Izzy forgot to look at her painting, she was so busy looking at her.

The girl dipped, and Izzy couldn’t help but wish she could see those eyes again.

“Your Highness,” she said quietly, as was expected. “It’s such an honour.”

“Oh, the honour is all mine,” Izzy replied before she could process what she was saying. Realising the mistake when Clary’s eyes grew to the size of hubcaps, Izzy’s gaze quickly drifting to the painting, nodding to it gently. “You are wonderfully talented, Miss Fairchild. You should be very proud.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

Izzy took a minute to actually take in the painting, and as she did, she found her breath caught in a way she hadn’t quite felt before. She’d seen a lot of art today. But nothing quite like this. “You’ve captured the Glass Towers beautifully,” Izzy murmured after a moment, examining the painting. One of the city’s most well known landmarks, Izzy had always loved the Glass Towers. She used to sneak up to the palace roof to stare out at them, and watch the sunset, the orange rays bouncing off their surface, lighting up the white buildings of the city like no other time of day. It was one of her happiest childhood memories, spent with Alec and Jace at her side, when they were young enough not to understand what was coming to them.

Izzy had never seen anyone capable of capturing the moment. There was something about the Glass Towers that seemed to defeat most artists. The play of light was never quite right, the quality of the pictures always felt too sterile and raw. But Clary’s picture was… near flawless. Izzy adored it. “How long have you been painting?” Izzy asked, for once genuinely interested in the answer.

“Since I was a child, ma’am. My mother’s an artist too. Jocelyn Fairchild. She’s had works displayed here too.”

“Then she ought to feel lucky to have been blessed with such an equally talented daughter,” Izzy said warmly, biting back the urge to throw protocol to the wind, to ask Clary to use her name, to ask Clary everything about her. Izzy was entranced in so many ways, that someone her own age could be capable of so much.

But before Izzy could utter another word, her entourage were reminding her of schedules and times and tours and boards, and she found herself being hurried along.

“Congratulations again,” Izzy finished, although she wanted to say so much more.

The rest of the tour passed in a daze, and all Izzy could think was that Clary Fairchild and her painting were still somewhere in the building, and yet she had to stay here, with a bunch of stuffy old men talking about business and income sheets.

It wasn’t until she got back to the car with Raj that she was finally free to devote all her attention to what she wanted to, whipping out her smartphone and googling like her life depended on it.

“Raj, could you do me a favour? Could you talk to the Gallery and find out if it would be possible to purchase Miss Fairchild’s painting? I think I’ve grown rather attached.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

If Raj wondered what in particular she was attached to, he - rather wisely - didn’t ask.

 

* * *

 

“Izzy, why do you want someone to paint our portrait?”

Alec, proper as ever, knocked before entering her rooms and allowed her to open the door before jumping into what he wanted. But then, Alec had never been knowing for missing the point of much.

Other than maybe Magnus’ shameless flirting.

“Why not? Mother thinks it’s a lovely idea, and the Gallery would like some new pieces for their exhibit.”

“Portraits are very… traditional. Don’t they just do photoshoots nows?” he asked with a frown, sitting down on the couch opposite her, where she was flicking through her tablet idly.

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun. We can get a matching set done. Some history student in two hundred years will thank us.”

“You seem awfully interested in the Gallery now,” Alec pointed out, suspicious. But Izzy pointedly chose to ignore the tone, continuing to focus on her tablet.

“Come now, Alec, I had a lovely visit and I’m very interested in improving their collections for people to enjoy. You don’t need to worry, anyway. We’re letting the artist trial out on me first and if all goes well we can have the set done,” Izzy reassured him. Alec seemed unconvinced.

And if someone had suggested that she was just looking for an excuse to spend extensive time with Clary Fairchild, well, that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it?

 

* * *

 

She comes in two weeks later, looking overwhelmed and completely at home in the space all at once.

She’d already set up by the time Izzy arrived, in an armchair with pencils and sketchpads littered around her, an easel behind her and what looks like a large bag stuffed filled with supplies. A dust sheet is settled on the floor, just in case. Probably a precaution of the palace. It would be a shame to get a charcoal stain on the nice, 150 year old rug, Izzy supposed.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Miss Fairchild,” Izzy greeted her warmly, and Clary started in her chair, looking surprised that Izzy remembered her name at all. The girl blushed profusely, starting to get to her feet, no doubt to curtesy, and Izzy shook her head, gently placing her hand on Clary’s shoulder, pushing her down. “We’re going to be busy. There’s no need for formality,” she insisted. Her mother would have killed her, but Izzy found she didn’t rightly care.

“Of course,” Clary replied quietly, clearing her throat a little and watching as Isabelle moved forward to the ornate chair that had been set out for her, taking a seat. It was strange, Izzy thought, to be watched by an artist. She could feel Clary watching every inch of her, every move she made and the play of light on her features. In most people, that kind of look could have been considered intimate. It _felt_ intimate, the tension in the air between them certainly said so.

And yet Clary was an artist. This was her job.

“So I’ll just take some pictures today, and do a few pencil sketches, if that’s alright. I want to spend some time doing some compositions in my studio before we go much further,” Clary offered quietly, reaching for a digital camera from her bag. Izzy nodded.

“Of course. Whatever you need,” Izzy agreed, sitting where she was as Clary snapped pictures, and Izzy idly thought that this was perhaps one of the few times someone had actually asked permission before taking her photograph. Something about that felt… oddly nice, too.

Izzy managed to keep her mouth shut for all of fifteen minutes, watching as Clary began sketching, before she could no longer hold herself back. When Alec would interrogate her about the portrait session later, Izzy would consider it an achievement she lasted so long.

“Have you done many portraits before?”  
Clary was entirely focused on her work, but looked up curiously before turning back to her pad, clearly not deterred by whatever the princess had to say. For a moment Izzy thought she wasn’t going to respond, and then…

“A few. I do more landscapes, honestly, but my mother… she was always very good at portraiture.”

“Your art is very lovely. That piece at the gallery was stunning,” Izzy complimented her gently. ‘ _Just like you,’_ she added in her head, because really, Izzy wasn’t _blind_.

“Thanks. It took a lot of time to get right,” Clary offered. “I spent hours just… watching the sunset and seeing what was wrong.”

“Do you spend a lot of time with your subjects?” Izzy asked curiously, maybe even a little hopeful.

“Only the ones I’m passionate about,” Clary replied, seemingly without thinking, because in a heartbeat she turned bright red, hiding under her hair and focusing on her drawings. Isabelle wanted nothing more than to go over there, brush her hair from her eyes and tell her everything was fine.

“Then I hope I can rise to the occasion.”

Clary smiled, the tiniest expression that Izzy delighted in seeing. “I’m sure you can,” she offered, and Izzy beamed. If that wasn’t everything she’d hoped for… then really, what was?

 

* * *

 

“What’s your favourite thing to paint?”

It’s their last session, and Izzy had taken careful time in the previous ones to interrogate Clary as gently as she can. She wants to know everything about her, everything there is to know. It had started out under the veil of politeness, but somewhere along the way, things had changed.

Clary had stopped feeling so overwhelmed, and started smiling a lot more as she worked.

“I don’t know. It depends on the day,” Clary admitted.

“Your favourite piece then.”

“So far? The Glass Towers,” Clary told her, referring to that piece from the gallery again. Izzy smiled. It had been quite exceptional. That was why Izzy had quietly offered to buy it, after the Gallery had finished with it. That and other reasons. “The colours were… stunning,” Clary said softly.

“I hope you like blue then,” Izzy joked, glancing down at the dress she’d been wearing to their sessions since they started. A soft periwinkle blue, the Lightwood colours. Izzy might have wanted to wear something else, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think that she got a choice in _that_ matter. “I always felt that pink was more my colour…” Izzy mused.

“If I looked like you, I could wear whatever colour I wanted,” Clary replied, and Izzy smiled.

“I’m sure you could wear whatever you want too. You look gorgeous as always,” Izzy complimented her openly, and Clary chuckled, hiding behind her easel, shaking her head a little.

“I’m covered in paint again. I’ve looked better,” Clary replied. “Besides, the only redhead that can wear pink successfully is Ariel.”

“I think you’d look beautiful no matter what,” Izzy told her solemnly. If anything, she though Clary looked even more beautiful as she did now, fingers smudged with paint, the odd smear on her forehead and wrists, her white shirt gently splattered with specks of colour. She almost preferred it to the genteel refinement she saw so often. Clary looked far more natural like that. At home, almost. Clary looked up, finally pausing for a moment. She seemed to think about Izzy’s words for a moment before clearing her throat.

“So why blue?”

“It’s the family colours. It’s what’s expected.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you’re the kind of girl who always does what’s expected,” Clary pointed out, and Izzy shook her head a little.

“What happened before doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I wasn’t talking about what the press say about you,” Clary said, and Izzy looked up in surprise. “We’ve spent a lot of time together. Part of doing a portrait is trying to represent the person you’re painting - inside and out. And you don’t seem like the kind of person who’s happy always doing what they're told.”

Izzy exhaled softly, watching Clary as she went back to the painting. Izzy wanted to move, wanted to go over there and _do_ something about everything she was feeling but… what if Clary was just being nice? Besides, Alec was under enough pressure without their parents insisting he bring her back into line as well and…

There was a knock at the door, and Izzy looked up. Raj.

“Excuse me, Your Highness, but you need to go and get ready for the State Banquet this evening.”

Izzy could have cursed him if he wasn’t so good at his job.

“That’s okay, I can finish the portrait on my own from now,” Clary assured her. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Fairchild,” Izzy said, far more formal than she wanted to be. She started to move forward, to maybe shake Clary’s hand, hug her, touch her, feel her in some way before she potentially disappeared out of Isabelle’s life forever. But Clary held her messy hands up, smiling softly.

“Sorry. Paint. I wouldn’t want to ruin your dress.”

Izzy wanted to say she had plenty of others, and she didn’t care.

But Princess Isabelle simply nodded, smiled, and followed Raj from the room.

Goddamn Princess Isabelle.

 

* * *

 

There’s a formal event for the unveiling of Clary’s painting. Isabelle smiles and says all the right things, does exactly what’s expected of her. But that doesn’t leave her any time to talk to Clary. She has to thank her officially, of course, but she can’t _talk_ to Clary. Not like they have done since she started painting. And Izzy thinks about all the things Clary’s learned about her, and how fascinated she is with the girl in turn.

If Izzy was infatuated before, she was practically head over heels now.

And it’s funny, how warm the portrait is. How uncompromisingly honest it is, whilst being completely and utterly flattering in every single way. It’s painted with care and adoration, with the light highlighting something in her that Izzy didn’t even realise was there. It’s painted with something intimate and close. She loves it.

She wonders if everyone else can see it too, or if it’s just her.

As if to answer her question, Izzy was standing in front of the painting again, after slipping away from the main reception to just look at it, just take it in. She had thought she was alone, which is the only reason she nearly jumps out of her skin when a voice echoes around the space.

It has nothing to do with how deep she is with the picture of herself. Not at all.

“If you’re not careful, someone will think you’re exceptionally vain, dear.”

Izzy breathed a sigh of relief as she looked up, finding Magnus sitting on a bench at the back of the room. She likes Magnus. She’s always liked Magnus. She liked Magnus before _Alec_ liked Magnus, or so she likes to remind them. Alec won’t hear it and Magnus just says she obviously has good taste, but Izzy just accepts the small victory for what it is.

“I’m just admiring the artistry,” Izzy defended with a slight sniff, her gaze fixed on the painting again.

“The artistry or the artist?” Magnus pressed, and Izzy looked over her shoulder in surprise. Magnus chuckled. “Oh please, don’t tell me you think you’ve been subtle. You’re smarter than that.”

Izzy thought about denying it for a moment, but then she realised how little point there was. Magnus is as smart as he is powerful, and there’s very little point in trying to deceive him. He’d work it out. Besides. She likes him. They’re friends. And she probably owes him the truth.

“She’s… I can’t stop thinking about her,” Izzy admitted softly, realising how true it was. She’d wanted to meet Clary from the moment she saw that painting, meet her properly. And now… it feels magical around her. Izzy can’t let go. Magnus’ expression softens.

“When you see her, it’s like the world stops spinning. Every moment without her seems a little empty, and you want to spend every moment you can with her like it’s a gift. You want to tell her everything, because she sees you in ways no one else has, and understands you without you needing to use words.” Izzy paused, looking over at Magnus, wondering how he could pinpoint it so accurately. He shrugged at the unasked question, eyes focused on the painting. “It’s what your brother does for me.”

Izzy sighed, wondering what to do. One gay royal was enough, but two? Her mother would throw a fit. She would scream and rage about succession and honour and continuing stability of the line and…

Well, maybe Izzy would be able to work that out, if they had to. She’d do whatever she had to. She knew what she wanted, right now. She knew _who_ she wanted.

“What if she doesn’t feel the same?” Izzy asked quietly, and Magnus just laughed.

“Anyone who paints you like _that_ , Izzy, clearly feels something.” At least it wasn’t all in her head. She had to feel positive about that. “Go and find her. Before it’s too late. Don’t regret the chances you didn’t take.”

Izzy nodded a little, dragging her eyes away from the portrait.

“Okay. Okay…” Izzy said, steeling herself and turning to leave. As she did, she turned back though, smiling.

“Hey, Magnus? Thanks. I’m really glad Alec has you.”

“My pleasure,” he assured her, a soft smile on his face, and Izzy could have sworn he looked proud.

Magnus Bane, saving the day again.

 

* * *

 

Clary had her coat on and was heading for the door when Izzy found her, the emerald green fabric sitting beautifully with her hair. She’s a vision, and in that moment, Izzy wishes she had half of Clary’s talent so that she could capture how she looks tonight. She’s beautiful. She’s…. everything.

“Miss Fairchild!” Izzy called, cursing the formality but walking swiftly down the hallway to where Clary had paused, waiting for her. “We didn’t get a chance to talk,” Izzy said lamely, for lack of what else to say. Clary smiled, curtseying a little.

“You were busy, Your Highness.”

“Isabelle. Please,” Izzy insisted. Clary paused, nodding a little after a moment. Izzy pressed on anyway. “I could never be too busy for you, either.”

Clary seemed a little taken aback at that, considering her options. “What did you think of the painting?”  
“It’s beautiful.” Izzy said honestly, empathetically, with all the adoration she could muster in her tone. Clary smiled, the hint of an expression on her face, seeming to warm it through from the core.

“I had a very beautiful subject,” Clary replied equally honestly, and Izzy smiled.

“It’s not all that. I’m sure the talent of the artist counts for much more.”

“I don’t know. The subject always helps.”

It only occurred to her how close they’re standing at that moment. The corridor is huge, but there’s not enough space, and Izzy was so close that she could see the speckles of eyeshadow around Clary’s eyes, the shimmer of green chiffon and gold jewellery. She’s a work of art herself, and Izzy wanted to get closer, to get to know her, to feel everything. A lock of hair fell forward, and Izzy couldn’t stop herself from reaching out, gently putting it back into place behind Clary’s ear, luxuriating in the movement, in the intimacy of the action.

“Clary…” Izzy sighed softly, her name sounding like a prayer.

“Isabelle,” Clary echoed, and Izzy drifted even closer.

“Would you mind if I…?” Izzy asked cautiously, and Clary shook her head, reaching forward for Izzy’s hand, tugging her closer. Their foreheads touched, and Izzy could feel their breaths mingling. She loved it, and there’s something exciting about the fact all this is happening in the open. Anyone could walk past and she wouldn’t even know.

The world was Clary, and nothing else mattered.

Rather than answering, Clary tilted her head up, capturing Izzy’s lips in a kiss, and Izzy could have sworn she melted, the world tilting around her. Clary’s hands heldher up, an arm snaking around her waist, and Izzy’s hands wander to arms and skin she’s longed to feel under her palms. Clary kisses like the world will end, and like this is the last moment she has to show love. Clary kisses like she’s breakable, fragile, and needs to be shown love and affection to stay in one piece.

Clary kisses like she isn’t kissing a prim and proper Princess, and Isabelle loves it.

She might have kissed Clary forever, if not for the sound of someone behind them, clearing their throat rather loudly. Izzy decided she didn’t care and continued, but Clary clearly _did_ care, because the girl started like she’d been shocked with 500 volts. To her credit, though, she didn’t move away. It would have been a little late for that, anyway. Clary’s lipstick is smeared, her hair even more out of place, and Izzy noticed that her own dress was a little more ruffled than before.

Fully prepared to do damage control, Izzy turned, but her heart soared at the sight of who exactly had chosen to interrupt.

Alec, standing holding the door open to the drawing room.

“If you two want to continue, I would do it in there. In case mother catches you,” Alec suggested innocently, and she knew that was the tone of a man who’s had one too many close run ins with their homophobic parents for comfort. Izzy smiled, nodding to him.

Alec returned the gesture before moving out of the way. Izzy laced her fingers with Clary’s pulling her towards the open door. Clary drifted inside first, but Izzy paused, leaning up on her heels to press a kiss to Alec’s cheek. “Thanks, _hermano_ ,” she says warmly.

“No problem,” he replied affectionately. “The door locks,” he whispered in her ear before moving away a little. “I’ll go distract everyone. Take your time.”

Izzy wondered how she’d overlooked the gift of her brother so much in the past few weeks. He was so encouraging… but then, they only ever wanted to see each other happy. So really, it made sense.

Izzy pushed the door closed, turning the prescribed lock and finding Clary sitting on the edge of an ornate desk, her coat abandoned on the floor. “Now, where were we?” Izzy asked. Clary smiled, a mischievous edge to it.

“I think I needed to do more studies,” Clary reminded her, holding her hand out. Izzy raised an eyebrow, the smile infectious as she moved to stand in front of Clary.

“What for?”

“For all those pictures I’m going to draw of the beautiful princess,” Clary reminded her, as if it was obvious. Izzy grinned, leaning a little closer again, lips brushing once more.

“Study away.”

And so she did.


End file.
